Wednesday, December 19, 2007

THE NEON

the neon above my headflickers in its unnatural rhythm: millerlite.millerlite. millerlite. miller. they don'teven serve it here anymore but hangs

still. like an old family portrait withthe soft blue background, sweater vests, and sunday bests. each face adornedwith the most perfect smile one could musterat a Kmart after church. long sincedivorced parents handsresting on their children's shoulders who might be

old enough to drink here by now. and billywho once loved baseball is leather cladin the corner. brandishing nose rings, andskull tattoos, a chain clinging to his wallet.

maybe that's julia, the oldest, leaning overto ignite on a match held calmly by a manwho won't respect her in the morning.

and that incessant buzzing hums on asa reminder. what's here today willbe gone tomorrow. that history mightas well be hanging from the wallsof every dive bar in america. a shrine

to things never working out as planned.and with every sip the buzz gets louder.drinking to forget in the first place.